Soromir Family Journal
4, Vulcan 760 - Windsday
Crescius Soromir --
I never liked this weather.
When I look to the cold, dead stars for warmth.
Footprints in the snow like gaping wounds
left by some forgotten war of metal and leather.
-
Heavens it's cold.
Arrived at Stoney Path last night following a hard day of travel. Captain Ruen appears despondent after learning of three additional armies joining the enemy from the northwest. We are digging into this plateau to prepare for the inevitable attack from the enemy.
Ruen is an interesting man, to say the least.
Me, I know Ruen. I am not saying we are close-nothing is close to that man save for sword and flask. Rather, I know what he has seen.
More than any of us, perhaps.
Would explain the drinking, and how he never lets his guard down.
I awoke in the cold, blustery night to drums far in the distance-echoes of my doom, reverberations of fate. The men are nervous for what is coming our way. Even now I can feel the ground quaking under our boots. We have not seen a fight in two months since my scouting party was ambushed by that splinter of goblins lead by that old hag witch Eloise Gnarlweed.
Made short work of her.
5, Vulcan 760
Crescius Soromir --
Sweat falls:
A lark sings for a mate;
A million tiny occurrences at once;
Lives are made;
Plans are forgotten;
and in that instant,
I am saved.
-
A long drawn out day of fighting.
The enemy crested the hill at dawn to make sight. The blood red torches burned the untouched snow like molten ichor. My rawhide tent froze shut throughout the night. I cut through the flap with my dagger: hard as stone and foul. Ruen was awake and corralling the men into impeccable formation. I do not think that man has ever had a full night’s sleep in his life. His receding hairline and short temper clearly correspond to the hours of sleep he manages to unnaturally force into his body every night. Despite my years in battle, I still will not speak to him unless absolutely necessary. With a gaze that could melt solid plate if held long enough, he says, on a number of occasions: "YOU COULDN'T HIT AN ORC WITH THAT AXE IF HE SHOVED IT UP HIS OWN WRINKLY ARSE!!" and my favourite: "YOU SHOULD’VE LEFT THOSE TEARS WITH YOUR MUM, BOY, SHE CAN'T HEAR YOU NOW!!" that one always scares the recruits. As the men stumbled to dress themselves while fighting off the morning chill, the real fight was roaring, screaming, and frothing from atop that hill. In my experience with ilk of this nature: orcs, goblins, and all manner of untamed violence, the battle begins as soon as sightlines are established.
Interestingly enough, the enemy ranks remained in formation. I thought this odd at first, but it soon came to me that the commander of these creatures was an impossibly shrewd tactician and leader: Durgag. On the line I found myself in my element: Demetrius left of me, Lars on the right, all three of us shivering in our icy plate. Despite the biting cold and piercing fear of death, I felt comfortable. Lars Dorham I’ve known since I joined the army at thirteen, before the minimum age was raised to seventeen. I remember meeting him outside the recruiting barracks, puffing up his chest and tacking on charcoal for some semblance of facial hair. I offered to apply it for him as, not moments before, I had done the exact same to myself. He’s a sound soldier and a good man with a three-inch height advantage over me, though that’s never made any difference in a fight. His strong build often proves troublesome for the armourers and blacksmiths. In fact, when gathering his equipment with the from the quartermaster before leaving home, it was clear none of the armour would fit his impossibly large cauldron of a belly. Thus, a custom set of curved platemale was requisitioned. Demetrius I met recently, in fact, as we left home on this dreadful campaign. As far as height is concered, Demetrius and I are about as equal as can be, which seems odd for a dragonborn. While he's never mentioned a family name, he carries himself as if he were highborn. He has no patience for mediocrity or frivolous gossip, and has the most impeccable taste in wine I have ever seen. Despite all this, he has the foulest sense of humour I have ever been privy to in a soldier. One night in camp, Davis, an archer, asked an interesting if not inappropriate question: "if these orcs just want to burn and rape, why not go north to farmland?" to which Demetrius responded, quietly "Send Marshal Matheson to their ranks. He could fuck every last one of 'em and still have some left for the rest of us" Matheson was known for screwing anything he could get his hands on Before the battle the air was still and the night had yet to release its last breath. There was silence save for the chattering of teeth and the tinkling of one’s armour against another. The enemy charged with such ferocity and vigour we were initially routed. From the way they moved it seemed they did not feel. Did not think. This, ultimately, was their downfall. This was not the captain’s first battle, and he ensured it would not be his last. Lars quickly became overwhelmed, and was split from the ranks. Noticing this, I forayed the battlefield, parying and deflecting incoming attacks, making my way to Lars. With one slash from my halberd I removed the three orcs from their legs, freeing Lars. Ruen then hastily dispatched his vanguard around the screaming pillar of orcs still charging, cutting off their escape. By then, their initial troop advance did not stand such as a chance. Left without bolstering infantry, their hounds leaped and pounced and snarled, but were easily blocked and cut down by halberds and spears. In the end we lost a total recorded 347 men and 155 horses, many more among them lost and unaccounted for. Ruen summoned me to his tent late that night, his peers and trusted generals with him. He found it necessary to promote me to knight banneret, a title nearly equal to his own, with less pampering from the squires and more paperwork. For the first time in my career, I have been asked to decide on a banner to be carried by the men under my command. After much deliberation, and a few unwanted second opinions from Demetrius, I chose a strong grey mountain on a red field. Tomorrow, we march west to bolster the Orlane troops cut off in Sharpwind Pass.
18, Gaiah 760 - Windsday Crescius —
I do not remember exactly what transpired five months ago as we left due west. It seems I had left my journal in my tent during the haste that morning. As we return from the battle after months of heavy fighting, along these very same hills and plains, I am filled with memories of anguish and victory… and of my son, Walcott. My wife wrote me sometime in Vulcana about the birth of our son. She described tenderly to me his supple skin, pure blond streaks of hair thin as dry blugrass in the fall. 19, Gaiah 760 - Thunderday Trepidation at dawn- Courage at dusk- These were the words of mind, the words of body lay bruised and blistered across my crumpled body, while the words of soul fought blind. - Sitting in the new command tent this night, we received news of a newly dispatched legion of orcs, bugbears and goblins. Gods know what else is with them. I shiver thinking of more of those frigid hounds-nasty creatures those, things. The men are growing restless, and their halberds have rusted, like their spirits. The men, like myself, would enjoy nothing more in this world than the warm embrace of our friends and families. Rather, we are now fortifying the same plain facing Fang Hill, defending the pass that leads to Crockswell Bay. The ground is still cold, yet I see blooming asters, kissed by the bees and birds. With us is the bulk of our counter force, the rest having returned home by now. None of the men know why the enemy would venture such a reckless final attack. To us it does not make any strategic sense. We await the drums and the fight. We are so close to home I can almost see the strait. I am praying these men will return to their families alive and unharmed. 20, Gaia 760 - Fireday Crescius -- Does the dandelion lose itself to the wind? To the cold dark pitch? It grows, season after season, blind to the sacrifices before't. - 300 men lost—250 horses. Durgag sent the remaining members of his vanguard to Auspicia, attempting to catch us off our guard and seize this corridor. Fortunately for us, Dane, the commander of the Orlane forces, swept up the opposition in the north allowing us to return home before the enemy beat us to it. The battle ended as quick as it began, but each force was equal in strength. The enemy fought with such a ferocious desperation—a second wind, full of fire and blood. Durgag’s ranks were rife with enormous spiders, frothing but tamed. A single one of these monstrosities fell 50 good men before our archers and pikemen could make a coordinated attack against it. The fighting lasted less than an hour-more more than I could bear. Knowing my son is growing and learning without me traps my thoughts and steals my courage. The days of risk are done. Parsing the tired battlefield, one of my squires brought to me a bent mass of twigs and branches. I thought nothing of it at first, nothing more than brambles from a dark forest. However, something about this thing spoke to me. The energy emanating from it seemed to penetrate my plate, cloth and skin. Later that afternoon, I brought it to Atticus, the company alchemist. After examining it for what seemed like twenty minutes, he simply handed it back to me and said “must belong to some Firbolg. They carry 'em around when they’re young, but discard them when they reach adulthood.” I almost threw the thing away, but I decided to keep it for the time being. Perhaps Walcott will enjoy it. There is one last concern on my mind: Durgag himself. 20, Gaia 760 Pick me up, mother, when I fall. A laugh is but a rhythmic contraction of the diaphragm. To me, it is everything but the rain - Today we return home. With the war coming to an end, we have been ordered to return home to the capital. The king has informed me regarding a promotion. I have been chosen to train a large large sum of new recruits. Merely children from what I have been told. Staying close to home will allow me to be close to Elizabeth and Walcott. The air is cold but it is getting warmer with every passing day. Plate and chain are no longer icy to the touch, and we are no longer slogging through the mud from one camp to the next. Two days until we reach home. Thirteen captives have attempted escape. Thirteen have been killed 1, Salacia 760 Crescius -- What did the dragon say to the flea? "Take heed of the wind, for once I feared it" I doubt they will speak again. - We have reached the port from which we will ferry home to Bronze Bay. Arthur Mayweather is the ferryman, has been for twenty years, and his father Brandon before him. It’s good to see him after so long. He has always posessed a striking resemblance to his father, long and lanky with windswept hair and a somber disposition. A walking ghost. I can see the men’s spirits lift with every passing day as we come closer to home. 2, Salacia 760 All flesh is stars, as all stars are seeds. What we cannot see we cannot grasp and touch and with what we cannot communicate we must destroy. - The ferry came under attack in the middle of the Auspician Strait by a nightmarish flock of cloakers, harpies, and Durgag himself mounted upon a foul wyrm. The water was calm and the night was quiet and peaceful when one of the bannermen suddenly disappeared into the night sky, screaming and flailing. Half the men were asleep when the first was taken, and by the fifth we were fully armed and alert, but it did not matter. The quiet night became a deafening tomb of terror. The ferry’s torches lit only the deck of the boat. with trickling branches of warm light extending a few feet into the blackwater. We fought back the invisible foe for what felt like an eternity until an even louder, measured beckoning echoed across the water, commanding the flock to retreat in the direction of a solitary pair of red, piercing eyes. A blinding white light exploded above them, illuminating the horrifically mangled face of Durgag, war chief of the enemy. The light originated from the weapon he held ready at his side. Once again the night fell quiet as we watched his approach, unsure of exactly what would happen. He sat atop the most wretched creature I had ever seen in battle. An undead, rotted wyrm. We regained our sight in the darkness quickly, and I had the men knock arrows and wait for my command. Ruen had taken a previous traverse across the strait and left command of this battalion to me. I was responsible for the lives of these men. I commanded the men to wait to loose their arrows until Durgag was 30 feet away from the boat. The night fell silent as all one hundred men stood ready, watching this creature bob up and down in the blackness. What happened after that is hazy in my mind. The arrows flew and pierced the nightly silence. Immediately the creature was upon us, slashing at the men and throwing me overboard into the inky seawater. My chainmail quickly weighed me down and dragged me under the surface, and it quickly came to me that I must strip the weapons and armour on me or surely drown. Quickly doffing my armour and shirking my longsword and shield I breached the surface of the water where I was quickly reminded of the terror that faced me and the men for whom I was responsible. Durgag was engaged in melee with Lars and Demetrius and a couple recent recruits. At the stern of the ship was about ten pikemen stalling the cockatrice as one by one they were either thrown overboard, surely to drown in their state of shock, or be killed instantly. I managed to climb back onto the port side of the ship where I noticed the flying creatures wading in the air in the distance, observing the slaughter. In the heat of battle, I reclaimed a fallen, blood-soaked bastard sword from the deck of the ship and severed the wyrm's tail with one strike, removing it from the melee. Immediately Durgag turned on his heels to see what had happened, and just as quickly a blinding pillar of light descended from the sky. The light reached Durgag himself then leapt from his sword like a feral bolt of lightning towards us at one section of the ship. The last image I saw was Douglas, a pikeman, leap in front of me with his shield. The next thing I remember I was alone on the stern, bones and ash at my feet with a few scattered helms and other pieces of armour. The men at the bow looked on in horror to where their friends once stood. The gaze then fell on Durgag as one sentiment seemed to make its way around the ship: the monster must not leave this vessel. At once, the fifty remaining men converged on Durgag, standing close to 8 feet tall and covered in a mess of plate and leather, and with marked stench of decay. Slowly approaching, sword drawn, I created a mental note of his movements: 1. On a counter riposte he strikes low, at the seam of the breastplate. 2. His axe is sluggish with an awkwardly constructed hilt. He wields it in his off hand. 3. He is strong and often grips weapons or shields to disarm his opponent. Duck, step to the side, parry. He fought with such desperate ferocity that many shields were splintered and, I suspect, just as many spirits. Lars had flanked him while I engaged him in combat face-to-face. The vessel was nearing the port of Auspicia as I realized the dire consequences that would be wrought if Durgag was to reach the other side. Previous reports of the northern regions brought back nothing but dire news of withered crops, dry dirt and dust. Wherever Durgag went, destruction and famine soon followed. Coming to my senses I saw Durgag hoist my friend Atreus by the neck, killing him almost instantly, and tossing him lifeless in my direction, knocking me on my back. Atreus had a large figure that was now pinning me to the floor and had me staring helplessly at the night sky, a cacophony of clanging metal and screams around me. The pristine dark quickly eclipsed by the gnarled face of Durgag, smirking in his wretched, masochistic way. He looked down at me, and with a cold glare full of malice, began to drive a twisted knife into my chest. My vision closed and the little light left in the night air dwindled. The last image I saw was Lars at Durgag’s back with his shortsword plunged into it as a hot, wretched ichor pooled on my face. I felt that giant then fall to the side where Lars pushed him. The impact shook the deck. Then everything went dark. In fact, I’m writing this entry from the palace infirmary following what the nurse said was “one of the longest sustained periods of unconsciousness” she had ever seen. Sixteen days, she said. Sixteen days in bed, helpless. Sixteen days without seeing Elizabeth and Walcott. When I awoke, she was sitting by my side, holding my hand. That kind of softness felt new to me. That feeling not something that seemed to belong in this world. This world undeserving of it. I am tired. It will be good to be close to my people again, though I fear the trouble is not truly vanquished General discontent grows in the capital with every passing day. The king has enacted tariffs on raw metals and grain, limiting the kingdom’s defensive capabilities to just the six strongholds across the isle. Our shores thus remain undefended, while our poorest citizens starve. Yet, I am loyal to the king, and while this kingdom recovers from the conflict we will undergo some drastic changes. Demonstrations outside the palace grow more and more frequent, and violence is becoming more common each day. This is no world in which I want to raise my boy, and I fear the worst.
24 Vulcana, 770—Tidesday
Walcott- Dad’s makin me rite in this jurnal.
Im 10 yeers old I shood be fiting not riting. Mum says it be good for me to lern speling and if I write three times a week dad and Bertrand will teach me to fight wit any weapon I want. I already can fite wit a shortsord, dagur, hand axe and a speer and Im only 10. My dad says I spend too much time practissing wit fiting and sords and stuff and not enough time reading and ritin. As if that ever stoped anyone from bein killed! Thats what I told him when he put this big stoopid book in my face. “The Rat and the Hawk” it’s called. Some story of animals. I said we eat animals, wy wud I want to read about them. Dad said its called an algory or sumthing. Told me reading is the only thing you can rely on. That Your mind is the first line of defence against all manners of evil and chaos. To leave your mind untrained is to leave yourself without armour, plate or leather. A dull mind is more harmful than a dull blade. Wutever. 25 Vulcana, 770—Windsday
I hate the peeple in my class
I hate the teechers
Why do I have to lern about stoopid “retoric” anyway.
What do they expect me to engage my foe in debate?
I like when skool is over becuz uncel Lars walks me to get sweets at the nice lady’s shop.
He is so cool
wow
I want to be like him when I’m older. He keeps telling me that armour isn’t all there is to a battle
Easy to say wen you have an inch of metal protecting your whole body!
Mom cam back from the palace today with my new brother. He kicks and he screams but father tells me “he is your blood and steel, nothing can break that”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. They named him morynn an I call him moron but mom doesn’t like that she said.
26 Vulcana blahblah
After school today I walked with Demetrius to the sparring grounds and he let me watch the palace guard train with their big weapons
I want one so bad I keep telling dad I want one but he says I’m too little.
I’m almost 11! I already know how to use pretty much every other weapon in the barracks.
I suggested even a shorter handle and a lighter metal for the blade, just for traning
He said “when you’re ready”
I’m ready now!
27 Vulcana — Fireday 772
Today is my twelfth birthday and I feel younger than ever and my brother gets so much attention. I never go home anymore and mom doesn’t even ask where I’ve been, like she doesn’t even care.
I hate moron.
I got beat in martial arts class by that idiot Tolbert Brenner today too
who only won because he’ heavier than a sack of grain.
I swore to him I’d beat him next time.
When school was done I asked sir fullman of the royal guard to teach me how to beat him but he said just pay attention to his feet.
How am I supposed to hit him if I’m looking at his feet
what a dummy
2 Fortuna — Moonday 772
Hildenbrand and Sir Fullman showed me the champion’s sword today after sparring class.
wow
Mr. Fullman said it’s given to the leader of the guard upon completing The Trials of Auspicia. It looks like it’s made of the strongest metal ever!
Hildenbrand said he just wanted to see if he could hold it…. He can’t even beat sir fullman in a spar, I’ve seen it.
It’s bigger than my whole body! And the counterweighted hilt must have a fighter with more precision and strength than a simple spear would.
The guardian’s greatsword is something that only the best and most honourable defenders of Auspicia wield.
Which is why I snuck into the palace to take it.
Margo and Tommond Mayweather agreed to come with me to steal the greatsword. We snuck into the palace after dark. I took point since I know my way around after spending so much time in the sparring grounds.
Margo and Tommond were babies about it because they thought we would get in trouble. I told them that if we got caught I would tell them we were sent into the palace on official kingly business.
after midnight we went through the big window over the ocean. I scaled the wall to scout ahead, because Margo was too chicken even though she is a better climber than me…at least I thought.
I peeked through the moonlit stone window to see but one guard, Sir Marlot. He’s so fat and too big for his boots and his breastplate synch lazily fastened made him jangle like a bell.
I leapt through the window and landed without a sound
Avoiding the beams of moon and torchlight I met Margo and Tommond at the gate and let them in.
We made our way to the altar where the sword is kept and the royal guard appoints their new members. The chamber was strangely empty and lit only by one cold beam of moonlight from the window in the ceiling and a few candles. We could see sword in the altar at the top of the set of marble stairs.
Approaching the altar I felt a rush of wind overtake me from behind. Turning around to face whatever might be I heard a voice I didn’t know, and I couldn’t tell if it was the wind and I was crazy.
“Walcott” it said “spines shatter, iron rusts, wings are clipped. The steel god shall cover this world and the next in the impregnable layers of power.”
Then the wind quieted, and I heard one last whisper say “beware, another stalks your path" I shook myself into focus and helped margo and Tommond lift the sword out of the case. The blade was huge!
We took turns holding it while the others supported the blade from behind and in front. We left when tommond cut his finger on the blade and began to cry.
Amateurs.
We escaped out of the room just as Marlot came in.
And now I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking of that sword and that voice. Who’s voice was it? Was it real?
And What did it mean by another?
It’s stupid.
27 Vulcana—776
500.
That’s how many times you fold blademetal on a bastard sword. Not 499, Not 501.
500
Tolbert doesn’t seem to grasp the basics of iron, let alone steel forging. Still, he’s worth his weight in gold when it comes to strength, and there’s a lot of it.
Last Tidesday, walking to the castle to catch the chalice tourney, Theodore Ferg and his monkeys caught us by surprise, tearing the new shirt mom gave me for my birthday and sending Berti to the ground. I was wearing my sollerets that I’d been working on, so I quickly stomped as hard as I could on Theo’s foot. He let out a yelp of pain, like a newborn pup. As I pulled my foot back into a fighting stance, he locked his gaze at me. His eyes looked fierce, red, and a scared.
He charged. I dragged my foot along the dry, loose dirt and cobble, sending a good amount of dust into his eyes. Again, another whimper from the “fastest blade in the realm”.
It was then that another, who’s name I do not recall, sprung from behind the cloud of dust with what looked like a knife made of pewter. Wearing nothing with any inherent stopping power, I readied myself for the blow. Faster than I could see, Tolbert lunged at him, perpendicular to his attack, and they both landed with a crack on the hard stone.
I heard a growl, and felt a sharp, fiery pain in my ribs as I felt a warm fall of blood soak my shirt.
Maybe the rumours are true.
Theo stood about 15 feet in front of me, his eyes red and watery and his skin heavily caked with dust. He leapt forward, weapon first, in a feral and careless attempt to make himself look dangerous. I pivoted and the blade soared past me and Theo landed on his feet, shaking. He took another ferocious swing at eye level, which I swiftly dodged and lunged at his abdomen, sending us both to the ground knocking the knife from his grasp.
After struggling on the path, I restrained Theo in a grapple and began twisting his arm backwards into submission.
I’m not sure what happened next, but a popping sound stopped the action cold.
Theo screeched in pain and began shaking violently, like an animal in a trap. I shoved him away and gave him one last kick for good measure.
Sometimes father tells me I get too carried away in forging class.
I told him “how can you care too much about the quality of your steel?”
“There is a fatal difference between care and compulsive obsession. Besides, do you not remember what I have taught you? A sharp mind is more dangerous than any blade”
By that time I had begun thinking of what could help me right now. I mean, all dad does is sit in the great hall and sign equipment requisitions, it’s not as if he really knows what it’s like to fight.
and I’ve seen the great hall. it’s not so great
It’s like his love for Morynn has made him soft. I take brother to see the ships come into bronze bay from faraway lands carrying spices and all kinds of trinkets. though there have been fewer over the past year. I ask dad why but he doesn’t answer. he seems almost ashamed of whatever he may say.
Morynn says he wants to travel the oceans on a ship. He says he wants to see every little bit of the world before he gets old. I keep telling him that how can he hope to navigate the sea for months on end when he can’t even be away from mom for a few hours before he cries.
He says that he can do it, but he’s never been on a boat before and he will like and it and be fine.
I shrugged it off.
he’ll be a good fighter.
28 vulcana - 776
“Auspicians are the children of the god of steel. Vekdis watches over us all. His gift to us is holy, it saves us from the weakness inside ourselves”
This is what a prophet said to me yesterday on the steps of the cathedral.
I was confused. I asked him what he thought Vekdis was doing during the Century War to let all those auspicious perish, so the history goes.
“Vekdis bestowed upon us the divine strength, The bane, in battle. Vekdis allowed us to emerge victorious from the conflict, but not without a justified sacrifice“
I asked this man if he thought the recorded deaths of 24,000 men, women and children was a justified sacrifice
“What is known to auspicious as the century war was Vekdis’ doing. only after Vekdis illuminated the warriors of Auspicia to be aware of the threat posed by New Halea did they ascend into their rightful seat amongst the gods, and accept their almighty gift”
I interrupted him and told him he doesn’t seem to have much faith in the fighter and his sword, with or without the bane
“A fighter is merely the will of Vekdis himself; the sword his many fingers, and the bane his spirit”
At this point I could no longer hold in my disdain, and I pushed the zealot down onto the stone and took off running. The bane is idiotic. Even as a kid I knew that some invisible force that all Auspicians “possess” is just an excuse to think we’re better than the rest of Sother.
A fighter is a fighter, and that’s that. A fighter is no better than what they’ve been taught and the weapon they wield.
29 Vulcana - 766
My body is growing. My body is changing into a weapon more powerful than any book or dusty scroll.
Father took me out to spar after class. He is getting old, about 58. Even now at 16 I was able to quickly outmanoeuvre and disarm him with a simple offensive. I mean no disrespect in this, but I am quickly surpassing him.
I can see it in his face and in the ways he speaks to me.
He spends most of his time in the palace working for the king in the commerce office, wasting away.
These days I have been helping Wallace in his forge as a way of making some coin, crafting simple pieces of metal for daggers and machinery.
Mindless work, really.
I see Wallace go into his office daily. I try to catch glimpses of what he has back there, but a large man always blocks my view. I’d never met this man, nor seen his face, but something tells me he is abnormal. Not in the way someone has a drifting eye or gout, but in the way that makes your blood run cold and causes your arm hair to raise where it stands.
Working in the forge has been informative. I see the royal palace guard make their rounds, fatter and fatter than ever. It’s actually hard work, but Wallace lets me work on my own projects in the downtime. I’ve made two short swords, one spear, and one greatsword. He says they are fine work, despite being forged from the rusted steel I find near the bay.
About a month ago I was working in the forge. I asked Wallace to stay late to work on my new halberd, to which he agreed. Before he left, he glared directly into my eyes and said “Whatever you do, do not enter my office. Do you understand, Walcott?”
I agreed, and he left, but not without taking one final look at me through the thick wooden door. Later that night, once all the commotion outside ceased, I finished working and began draining the cooling tank and sweeping the hearth. I placed the tongs back onto the wooden shelf next to the forge, nudging an old rasp onto the floor sending it rolling across the floor and under the discoloured flaps to Wallace’s office.
I followed, pausing at the entrance. I didn’t know whether it best to leave the tool there, or to retrieve it. Curiosity got the better of me, and I slowly lifted the door flap.
The tool lay on the floor, along with a mass of parchment and on the walls a collection of vials and tinctures, some empty, some glowing. It was too dimly lit to see what else filled the room, save for a roughly silhouetted figure about seven feet tall and shoulders wider than any man I had ever seen. He, or it, looked to be sleeping, or unconscious, but its body remained upright, shoulders slightly arched forward. Even putting it into words makes it seem more like a dream, but I saw something that was not meant for me. I grabbed the rasp and swiftly left the office, making sure to leave no trace as I shut the door to the forge and went home.
Whatever Wallace is hiding is not human.
29 Juno — 776
Over breakfast today I asked father how much he knows about Wallace the forger.
He said that he’s a good man and a talented artisan. He said only good things, and that the military might of the kingdom would not be what it is now if not for his genius and tenacity.
I asked him if he’s ever noticed anything suspicious about him, if he’s ever actually talked to him about his life, not mentioning what I found the night before.
He told me Wallace can sometimes be a quiet, private man, and aside from being an orphan, he is just different from most.
On my way to see Morynn at the palace in the early afternoon, I took a shortcut behind the barracks, and down through the waterways underneath the market. Demetrius tells me the waterways were on of the first things in the kingdom to be built, after the Great Hall. I turned a corner just as someone, or something, scurried around down the corridor. It was too dark to see, but it looked vaguely human, and was incredibly fast. I called out to it, but everything once again was quiet, not that it made any noise.
What it left was a thin black envelope lodged between the damp stonework. It stuck out a few inches, and I almost walked into it before I saw it by the reflection of the dim light above on its gold waxen seal. There were no markings on the envelope, but it felt thick like it contained something.
I slotted it away in my shirt and continued, hesitantly.
Whatever this thing was in the sewers, I was ready to fight.
Nothing came of this encounter save for the envelope. No trace was left of this person.
I left the waterway via a stone stairwell that exited into the palace yard.
They should truly make this place more secure.
I found Morynn in father’s office, reading some book about a Dragonborn pirate named Kara-hardash.
Father looked painfully tired, and even more so disappointed. Stacks of paper the size of pillars laid about his office and splatterings of ink on his clothing forced me to ask if something was bothering him.
“I don’t know anymore, Walcott”
His anguish and apathy genuinely shocked me.
“The king has stopped listening to his advisors, most of all me. We’ve ceased all meaningful trade except with the east, and even then it’s sparse, and many of our caravans are sacked before they reach their destination."
The words seemed to poor out of him like an overflowing kettle at boiling point.
I remained silent, knowing more was coming.
“I have overheard my colleagues speaking of declining birth rates and fewer eligible defendants. Fullman is the last member of the royal guard by blood, and most of our population as a whole is aging rapidly. The most recent births in the last 7-9 months have been successful, which gives me hope, but there needs to be change”.
I asked him, scared, “Why are you telling me this, father? What can I possibly do?”
“I fear the worst for Auspicia. The king is becoming disconnected from the people, and they become uneasy. Auspicia is capable of much more under strong leadership. Without that, we become restless, we crave a singular purpose. We are a nation of skilled duelists and crafstmen; it’s in our blood, in every facet of our culture, down to the last man, woman and child. We have steel in our blood, Walcott, but people like me and Lars, our day is done, and the steel has cooled. For centuries since The Rising, we have warred and struggled, but never against ourselves, never on our own shores. The world is changing, Walcott, we are changing, and I fear the king’s steel has hardened beyond all tool”
Fighting to hold back the tears in my eyes, I told him I would try. Try to bring Auspicia back to what it once was.
I know that I am capable of great things. I know that I can reforge this nation from the cold steel it has become.
But where do I start?
14 Larunda — 778
I am 18. I feel stronger, but younger than I ever have.
I have so much to learn.
Morynn is never around anymore, he chooses to spend his time studying naval charts and practicing knots. He’s more focused than I ever was at that age.
Pirates from Runa have been sighted pillaging coastal communities. At least dad says. Until they pass the peninsula our navy can’t do anything about it.
Typical.
The enemy crested the hill at dawn to make sight. The blood red torches burned the untouched snow like molten ichor. My rawhide tent froze shut throughout the night. I cut through the flap with my dagger: hard as stone and foul. Ruen was awake and corralling the men into impeccable formation. I do not think that man has ever had a full night’s sleep in his life. His receding hairline and short temper clearly correspond to the hours of sleep he manages to unnaturally force into his body every night. Despite my years in battle, I still will not speak to him unless absolutely necessary. With a gaze that could melt solid plate if held long enough, he says, on a number of occasions: "YOU COULDN'T HIT AN ORC WITH THAT AXE IF HE SHOVED IT UP HIS OWN WRINKLY ARSE!!" and my favourite: "YOU SHOULD’VE LEFT THOSE TEARS WITH YOUR MUM, BOY, SHE CAN'T HEAR YOU NOW!!" that one always scares the recruits. As the men stumbled to dress themselves while fighting off the morning chill, the real fight was roaring, screaming, and frothing from atop that hill. In my experience with ilk of this nature: orcs, goblins, and all manner of untamed violence, the battle begins as soon as sightlines are established.
Interestingly enough, the enemy ranks remained in formation. I thought this odd at first, but it soon came to me that the commander of these creatures was an impossibly shrewd tactician and leader: Durgag. On the line I found myself in my element: Demetrius left of me, Lars on the right, all three of us shivering in our icy plate. Despite the biting cold and piercing fear of death, I felt comfortable. Lars Dorham I’ve known since I joined the army at thirteen, before the minimum age was raised to seventeen. I remember meeting him outside the recruiting barracks, puffing up his chest and tacking on charcoal for some semblance of facial hair. I offered to apply it for him as, not moments before, I had done the exact same to myself. He’s a sound soldier and a good man with a three-inch height advantage over me, though that’s never made any difference in a fight. His strong build often proves troublesome for the armourers and blacksmiths. In fact, when gathering his equipment with the from the quartermaster before leaving home, it was clear none of the armour would fit his impossibly large cauldron of a belly. Thus, a custom set of curved platemale was requisitioned. Demetrius I met recently, in fact, as we left home on this dreadful campaign. As far as height is concered, Demetrius and I are about as equal as can be, which seems odd for a dragonborn. While he's never mentioned a family name, he carries himself as if he were highborn. He has no patience for mediocrity or frivolous gossip, and has the most impeccable taste in wine I have ever seen. Despite all this, he has the foulest sense of humour I have ever been privy to in a soldier. One night in camp, Davis, an archer, asked an interesting if not inappropriate question: "if these orcs just want to burn and rape, why not go north to farmland?" to which Demetrius responded, quietly "Send Marshal Matheson to their ranks. He could fuck every last one of 'em and still have some left for the rest of us" Matheson was known for screwing anything he could get his hands on Before the battle the air was still and the night had yet to release its last breath. There was silence save for the chattering of teeth and the tinkling of one’s armour against another. The enemy charged with such ferocity and vigour we were initially routed. From the way they moved it seemed they did not feel. Did not think. This, ultimately, was their downfall. This was not the captain’s first battle, and he ensured it would not be his last. Lars quickly became overwhelmed, and was split from the ranks. Noticing this, I forayed the battlefield, parying and deflecting incoming attacks, making my way to Lars. With one slash from my halberd I removed the three orcs from their legs, freeing Lars. Ruen then hastily dispatched his vanguard around the screaming pillar of orcs still charging, cutting off their escape. By then, their initial troop advance did not stand such as a chance. Left without bolstering infantry, their hounds leaped and pounced and snarled, but were easily blocked and cut down by halberds and spears. In the end we lost a total recorded 347 men and 155 horses, many more among them lost and unaccounted for. Ruen summoned me to his tent late that night, his peers and trusted generals with him. He found it necessary to promote me to knight banneret, a title nearly equal to his own, with less pampering from the squires and more paperwork. For the first time in my career, I have been asked to decide on a banner to be carried by the men under my command. After much deliberation, and a few unwanted second opinions from Demetrius, I chose a strong grey mountain on a red field. Tomorrow, we march west to bolster the Orlane troops cut off in Sharpwind Pass.
18, Gaiah 760 - Windsday Crescius —
I do not remember exactly what transpired five months ago as we left due west. It seems I had left my journal in my tent during the haste that morning. As we return from the battle after months of heavy fighting, along these very same hills and plains, I am filled with memories of anguish and victory… and of my son, Walcott. My wife wrote me sometime in Vulcana about the birth of our son. She described tenderly to me his supple skin, pure blond streaks of hair thin as dry blugrass in the fall. 19, Gaiah 760 - Thunderday Trepidation at dawn- Courage at dusk- These were the words of mind, the words of body lay bruised and blistered across my crumpled body, while the words of soul fought blind. - Sitting in the new command tent this night, we received news of a newly dispatched legion of orcs, bugbears and goblins. Gods know what else is with them. I shiver thinking of more of those frigid hounds-nasty creatures those, things. The men are growing restless, and their halberds have rusted, like their spirits. The men, like myself, would enjoy nothing more in this world than the warm embrace of our friends and families. Rather, we are now fortifying the same plain facing Fang Hill, defending the pass that leads to Crockswell Bay. The ground is still cold, yet I see blooming asters, kissed by the bees and birds. With us is the bulk of our counter force, the rest having returned home by now. None of the men know why the enemy would venture such a reckless final attack. To us it does not make any strategic sense. We await the drums and the fight. We are so close to home I can almost see the strait. I am praying these men will return to their families alive and unharmed. 20, Gaia 760 - Fireday Crescius -- Does the dandelion lose itself to the wind? To the cold dark pitch? It grows, season after season, blind to the sacrifices before't. - 300 men lost—250 horses. Durgag sent the remaining members of his vanguard to Auspicia, attempting to catch us off our guard and seize this corridor. Fortunately for us, Dane, the commander of the Orlane forces, swept up the opposition in the north allowing us to return home before the enemy beat us to it. The battle ended as quick as it began, but each force was equal in strength. The enemy fought with such a ferocious desperation—a second wind, full of fire and blood. Durgag’s ranks were rife with enormous spiders, frothing but tamed. A single one of these monstrosities fell 50 good men before our archers and pikemen could make a coordinated attack against it. The fighting lasted less than an hour-more more than I could bear. Knowing my son is growing and learning without me traps my thoughts and steals my courage. The days of risk are done. Parsing the tired battlefield, one of my squires brought to me a bent mass of twigs and branches. I thought nothing of it at first, nothing more than brambles from a dark forest. However, something about this thing spoke to me. The energy emanating from it seemed to penetrate my plate, cloth and skin. Later that afternoon, I brought it to Atticus, the company alchemist. After examining it for what seemed like twenty minutes, he simply handed it back to me and said “must belong to some Firbolg. They carry 'em around when they’re young, but discard them when they reach adulthood.” I almost threw the thing away, but I decided to keep it for the time being. Perhaps Walcott will enjoy it. There is one last concern on my mind: Durgag himself. 20, Gaia 760 Pick me up, mother, when I fall. A laugh is but a rhythmic contraction of the diaphragm. To me, it is everything but the rain - Today we return home. With the war coming to an end, we have been ordered to return home to the capital. The king has informed me regarding a promotion. I have been chosen to train a large large sum of new recruits. Merely children from what I have been told. Staying close to home will allow me to be close to Elizabeth and Walcott. The air is cold but it is getting warmer with every passing day. Plate and chain are no longer icy to the touch, and we are no longer slogging through the mud from one camp to the next. Two days until we reach home. Thirteen captives have attempted escape. Thirteen have been killed 1, Salacia 760 Crescius -- What did the dragon say to the flea? "Take heed of the wind, for once I feared it" I doubt they will speak again. - We have reached the port from which we will ferry home to Bronze Bay. Arthur Mayweather is the ferryman, has been for twenty years, and his father Brandon before him. It’s good to see him after so long. He has always posessed a striking resemblance to his father, long and lanky with windswept hair and a somber disposition. A walking ghost. I can see the men’s spirits lift with every passing day as we come closer to home. 2, Salacia 760 All flesh is stars, as all stars are seeds. What we cannot see we cannot grasp and touch and with what we cannot communicate we must destroy. - The ferry came under attack in the middle of the Auspician Strait by a nightmarish flock of cloakers, harpies, and Durgag himself mounted upon a foul wyrm. The water was calm and the night was quiet and peaceful when one of the bannermen suddenly disappeared into the night sky, screaming and flailing. Half the men were asleep when the first was taken, and by the fifth we were fully armed and alert, but it did not matter. The quiet night became a deafening tomb of terror. The ferry’s torches lit only the deck of the boat. with trickling branches of warm light extending a few feet into the blackwater. We fought back the invisible foe for what felt like an eternity until an even louder, measured beckoning echoed across the water, commanding the flock to retreat in the direction of a solitary pair of red, piercing eyes. A blinding white light exploded above them, illuminating the horrifically mangled face of Durgag, war chief of the enemy. The light originated from the weapon he held ready at his side. Once again the night fell quiet as we watched his approach, unsure of exactly what would happen. He sat atop the most wretched creature I had ever seen in battle. An undead, rotted wyrm. We regained our sight in the darkness quickly, and I had the men knock arrows and wait for my command. Ruen had taken a previous traverse across the strait and left command of this battalion to me. I was responsible for the lives of these men. I commanded the men to wait to loose their arrows until Durgag was 30 feet away from the boat. The night fell silent as all one hundred men stood ready, watching this creature bob up and down in the blackness. What happened after that is hazy in my mind. The arrows flew and pierced the nightly silence. Immediately the creature was upon us, slashing at the men and throwing me overboard into the inky seawater. My chainmail quickly weighed me down and dragged me under the surface, and it quickly came to me that I must strip the weapons and armour on me or surely drown. Quickly doffing my armour and shirking my longsword and shield I breached the surface of the water where I was quickly reminded of the terror that faced me and the men for whom I was responsible. Durgag was engaged in melee with Lars and Demetrius and a couple recent recruits. At the stern of the ship was about ten pikemen stalling the cockatrice as one by one they were either thrown overboard, surely to drown in their state of shock, or be killed instantly. I managed to climb back onto the port side of the ship where I noticed the flying creatures wading in the air in the distance, observing the slaughter. In the heat of battle, I reclaimed a fallen, blood-soaked bastard sword from the deck of the ship and severed the wyrm's tail with one strike, removing it from the melee. Immediately Durgag turned on his heels to see what had happened, and just as quickly a blinding pillar of light descended from the sky. The light reached Durgag himself then leapt from his sword like a feral bolt of lightning towards us at one section of the ship. The last image I saw was Douglas, a pikeman, leap in front of me with his shield. The next thing I remember I was alone on the stern, bones and ash at my feet with a few scattered helms and other pieces of armour. The men at the bow looked on in horror to where their friends once stood. The gaze then fell on Durgag as one sentiment seemed to make its way around the ship: the monster must not leave this vessel. At once, the fifty remaining men converged on Durgag, standing close to 8 feet tall and covered in a mess of plate and leather, and with marked stench of decay. Slowly approaching, sword drawn, I created a mental note of his movements: 1. On a counter riposte he strikes low, at the seam of the breastplate. 2. His axe is sluggish with an awkwardly constructed hilt. He wields it in his off hand. 3. He is strong and often grips weapons or shields to disarm his opponent. Duck, step to the side, parry. He fought with such desperate ferocity that many shields were splintered and, I suspect, just as many spirits. Lars had flanked him while I engaged him in combat face-to-face. The vessel was nearing the port of Auspicia as I realized the dire consequences that would be wrought if Durgag was to reach the other side. Previous reports of the northern regions brought back nothing but dire news of withered crops, dry dirt and dust. Wherever Durgag went, destruction and famine soon followed. Coming to my senses I saw Durgag hoist my friend Atreus by the neck, killing him almost instantly, and tossing him lifeless in my direction, knocking me on my back. Atreus had a large figure that was now pinning me to the floor and had me staring helplessly at the night sky, a cacophony of clanging metal and screams around me. The pristine dark quickly eclipsed by the gnarled face of Durgag, smirking in his wretched, masochistic way. He looked down at me, and with a cold glare full of malice, began to drive a twisted knife into my chest. My vision closed and the little light left in the night air dwindled. The last image I saw was Lars at Durgag’s back with his shortsword plunged into it as a hot, wretched ichor pooled on my face. I felt that giant then fall to the side where Lars pushed him. The impact shook the deck. Then everything went dark. In fact, I’m writing this entry from the palace infirmary following what the nurse said was “one of the longest sustained periods of unconsciousness” she had ever seen. Sixteen days, she said. Sixteen days in bed, helpless. Sixteen days without seeing Elizabeth and Walcott. When I awoke, she was sitting by my side, holding my hand. That kind of softness felt new to me. That feeling not something that seemed to belong in this world. This world undeserving of it. I am tired. It will be good to be close to my people again, though I fear the trouble is not truly vanquished General discontent grows in the capital with every passing day. The king has enacted tariffs on raw metals and grain, limiting the kingdom’s defensive capabilities to just the six strongholds across the isle. Our shores thus remain undefended, while our poorest citizens starve. Yet, I am loyal to the king, and while this kingdom recovers from the conflict we will undergo some drastic changes. Demonstrations outside the palace grow more and more frequent, and violence is becoming more common each day. This is no world in which I want to raise my boy, and I fear the worst.
24 Vulcana, 770—Tidesday
Walcott- Dad’s makin me rite in this jurnal.
Im 10 yeers old I shood be fiting not riting. Mum says it be good for me to lern speling and if I write three times a week dad and Bertrand will teach me to fight wit any weapon I want. I already can fite wit a shortsord, dagur, hand axe and a speer and Im only 10. My dad says I spend too much time practissing wit fiting and sords and stuff and not enough time reading and ritin. As if that ever stoped anyone from bein killed! Thats what I told him when he put this big stoopid book in my face. “The Rat and the Hawk” it’s called. Some story of animals. I said we eat animals, wy wud I want to read about them. Dad said its called an algory or sumthing. Told me reading is the only thing you can rely on. That Your mind is the first line of defence against all manners of evil and chaos. To leave your mind untrained is to leave yourself without armour, plate or leather. A dull mind is more harmful than a dull blade. Wutever. 25 Vulcana, 770—Windsday
I hate the peeple in my class
I hate the teechers
Why do I have to lern about stoopid “retoric” anyway.
What do they expect me to engage my foe in debate?
I like when skool is over becuz uncel Lars walks me to get sweets at the nice lady’s shop.
He is so cool
wow
I want to be like him when I’m older. He keeps telling me that armour isn’t all there is to a battle
Easy to say wen you have an inch of metal protecting your whole body!
Mom cam back from the palace today with my new brother. He kicks and he screams but father tells me “he is your blood and steel, nothing can break that”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. They named him morynn an I call him moron but mom doesn’t like that she said.
26 Vulcana blahblah
After school today I walked with Demetrius to the sparring grounds and he let me watch the palace guard train with their big weapons
I want one so bad I keep telling dad I want one but he says I’m too little.
I’m almost 11! I already know how to use pretty much every other weapon in the barracks.
I suggested even a shorter handle and a lighter metal for the blade, just for traning
He said “when you’re ready”
I’m ready now!
27 Vulcana — Fireday 772
Today is my twelfth birthday and I feel younger than ever and my brother gets so much attention. I never go home anymore and mom doesn’t even ask where I’ve been, like she doesn’t even care.
I hate moron.
I got beat in martial arts class by that idiot Tolbert Brenner today too
who only won because he’ heavier than a sack of grain.
I swore to him I’d beat him next time.
When school was done I asked sir fullman of the royal guard to teach me how to beat him but he said just pay attention to his feet.
How am I supposed to hit him if I’m looking at his feet
what a dummy
2 Fortuna — Moonday 772
Hildenbrand and Sir Fullman showed me the champion’s sword today after sparring class.
wow
Mr. Fullman said it’s given to the leader of the guard upon completing The Trials of Auspicia. It looks like it’s made of the strongest metal ever!
Hildenbrand said he just wanted to see if he could hold it…. He can’t even beat sir fullman in a spar, I’ve seen it.
It’s bigger than my whole body! And the counterweighted hilt must have a fighter with more precision and strength than a simple spear would.
The guardian’s greatsword is something that only the best and most honourable defenders of Auspicia wield.
Which is why I snuck into the palace to take it.
Margo and Tommond Mayweather agreed to come with me to steal the greatsword. We snuck into the palace after dark. I took point since I know my way around after spending so much time in the sparring grounds.
Margo and Tommond were babies about it because they thought we would get in trouble. I told them that if we got caught I would tell them we were sent into the palace on official kingly business.
after midnight we went through the big window over the ocean. I scaled the wall to scout ahead, because Margo was too chicken even though she is a better climber than me…at least I thought.
I peeked through the moonlit stone window to see but one guard, Sir Marlot. He’s so fat and too big for his boots and his breastplate synch lazily fastened made him jangle like a bell.
I leapt through the window and landed without a sound
Avoiding the beams of moon and torchlight I met Margo and Tommond at the gate and let them in.
We made our way to the altar where the sword is kept and the royal guard appoints their new members. The chamber was strangely empty and lit only by one cold beam of moonlight from the window in the ceiling and a few candles. We could see sword in the altar at the top of the set of marble stairs.
Approaching the altar I felt a rush of wind overtake me from behind. Turning around to face whatever might be I heard a voice I didn’t know, and I couldn’t tell if it was the wind and I was crazy.
“Walcott” it said “spines shatter, iron rusts, wings are clipped. The steel god shall cover this world and the next in the impregnable layers of power.”
Then the wind quieted, and I heard one last whisper say “beware, another stalks your path" I shook myself into focus and helped margo and Tommond lift the sword out of the case. The blade was huge!
We took turns holding it while the others supported the blade from behind and in front. We left when tommond cut his finger on the blade and began to cry.
Amateurs.
We escaped out of the room just as Marlot came in.
And now I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking of that sword and that voice. Who’s voice was it? Was it real?
And What did it mean by another?
It’s stupid.
27 Vulcana—776
500.
That’s how many times you fold blademetal on a bastard sword. Not 499, Not 501.
500
Tolbert doesn’t seem to grasp the basics of iron, let alone steel forging. Still, he’s worth his weight in gold when it comes to strength, and there’s a lot of it.
Last Tidesday, walking to the castle to catch the chalice tourney, Theodore Ferg and his monkeys caught us by surprise, tearing the new shirt mom gave me for my birthday and sending Berti to the ground. I was wearing my sollerets that I’d been working on, so I quickly stomped as hard as I could on Theo’s foot. He let out a yelp of pain, like a newborn pup. As I pulled my foot back into a fighting stance, he locked his gaze at me. His eyes looked fierce, red, and a scared.
He charged. I dragged my foot along the dry, loose dirt and cobble, sending a good amount of dust into his eyes. Again, another whimper from the “fastest blade in the realm”.
It was then that another, who’s name I do not recall, sprung from behind the cloud of dust with what looked like a knife made of pewter. Wearing nothing with any inherent stopping power, I readied myself for the blow. Faster than I could see, Tolbert lunged at him, perpendicular to his attack, and they both landed with a crack on the hard stone.
I heard a growl, and felt a sharp, fiery pain in my ribs as I felt a warm fall of blood soak my shirt.
Maybe the rumours are true.
Theo stood about 15 feet in front of me, his eyes red and watery and his skin heavily caked with dust. He leapt forward, weapon first, in a feral and careless attempt to make himself look dangerous. I pivoted and the blade soared past me and Theo landed on his feet, shaking. He took another ferocious swing at eye level, which I swiftly dodged and lunged at his abdomen, sending us both to the ground knocking the knife from his grasp.
After struggling on the path, I restrained Theo in a grapple and began twisting his arm backwards into submission.
I’m not sure what happened next, but a popping sound stopped the action cold.
Theo screeched in pain and began shaking violently, like an animal in a trap. I shoved him away and gave him one last kick for good measure.
Sometimes father tells me I get too carried away in forging class.
I told him “how can you care too much about the quality of your steel?”
“There is a fatal difference between care and compulsive obsession. Besides, do you not remember what I have taught you? A sharp mind is more dangerous than any blade”
By that time I had begun thinking of what could help me right now. I mean, all dad does is sit in the great hall and sign equipment requisitions, it’s not as if he really knows what it’s like to fight.
and I’ve seen the great hall. it’s not so great
It’s like his love for Morynn has made him soft. I take brother to see the ships come into bronze bay from faraway lands carrying spices and all kinds of trinkets. though there have been fewer over the past year. I ask dad why but he doesn’t answer. he seems almost ashamed of whatever he may say.
Morynn says he wants to travel the oceans on a ship. He says he wants to see every little bit of the world before he gets old. I keep telling him that how can he hope to navigate the sea for months on end when he can’t even be away from mom for a few hours before he cries.
He says that he can do it, but he’s never been on a boat before and he will like and it and be fine.
I shrugged it off.
he’ll be a good fighter.
28 vulcana - 776
“Auspicians are the children of the god of steel. Vekdis watches over us all. His gift to us is holy, it saves us from the weakness inside ourselves”
This is what a prophet said to me yesterday on the steps of the cathedral.
I was confused. I asked him what he thought Vekdis was doing during the Century War to let all those auspicious perish, so the history goes.
“Vekdis bestowed upon us the divine strength, The bane, in battle. Vekdis allowed us to emerge victorious from the conflict, but not without a justified sacrifice“
I asked this man if he thought the recorded deaths of 24,000 men, women and children was a justified sacrifice
“What is known to auspicious as the century war was Vekdis’ doing. only after Vekdis illuminated the warriors of Auspicia to be aware of the threat posed by New Halea did they ascend into their rightful seat amongst the gods, and accept their almighty gift”
I interrupted him and told him he doesn’t seem to have much faith in the fighter and his sword, with or without the bane
“A fighter is merely the will of Vekdis himself; the sword his many fingers, and the bane his spirit”
At this point I could no longer hold in my disdain, and I pushed the zealot down onto the stone and took off running. The bane is idiotic. Even as a kid I knew that some invisible force that all Auspicians “possess” is just an excuse to think we’re better than the rest of Sother.
A fighter is a fighter, and that’s that. A fighter is no better than what they’ve been taught and the weapon they wield.
29 Vulcana - 766
My body is growing. My body is changing into a weapon more powerful than any book or dusty scroll.
Father took me out to spar after class. He is getting old, about 58. Even now at 16 I was able to quickly outmanoeuvre and disarm him with a simple offensive. I mean no disrespect in this, but I am quickly surpassing him.
I can see it in his face and in the ways he speaks to me.
He spends most of his time in the palace working for the king in the commerce office, wasting away.
These days I have been helping Wallace in his forge as a way of making some coin, crafting simple pieces of metal for daggers and machinery.
Mindless work, really.
I see Wallace go into his office daily. I try to catch glimpses of what he has back there, but a large man always blocks my view. I’d never met this man, nor seen his face, but something tells me he is abnormal. Not in the way someone has a drifting eye or gout, but in the way that makes your blood run cold and causes your arm hair to raise where it stands.
Working in the forge has been informative. I see the royal palace guard make their rounds, fatter and fatter than ever. It’s actually hard work, but Wallace lets me work on my own projects in the downtime. I’ve made two short swords, one spear, and one greatsword. He says they are fine work, despite being forged from the rusted steel I find near the bay.
About a month ago I was working in the forge. I asked Wallace to stay late to work on my new halberd, to which he agreed. Before he left, he glared directly into my eyes and said “Whatever you do, do not enter my office. Do you understand, Walcott?”
I agreed, and he left, but not without taking one final look at me through the thick wooden door. Later that night, once all the commotion outside ceased, I finished working and began draining the cooling tank and sweeping the hearth. I placed the tongs back onto the wooden shelf next to the forge, nudging an old rasp onto the floor sending it rolling across the floor and under the discoloured flaps to Wallace’s office.
I followed, pausing at the entrance. I didn’t know whether it best to leave the tool there, or to retrieve it. Curiosity got the better of me, and I slowly lifted the door flap.
The tool lay on the floor, along with a mass of parchment and on the walls a collection of vials and tinctures, some empty, some glowing. It was too dimly lit to see what else filled the room, save for a roughly silhouetted figure about seven feet tall and shoulders wider than any man I had ever seen. He, or it, looked to be sleeping, or unconscious, but its body remained upright, shoulders slightly arched forward. Even putting it into words makes it seem more like a dream, but I saw something that was not meant for me. I grabbed the rasp and swiftly left the office, making sure to leave no trace as I shut the door to the forge and went home.
Whatever Wallace is hiding is not human.
29 Juno — 776
Over breakfast today I asked father how much he knows about Wallace the forger.
He said that he’s a good man and a talented artisan. He said only good things, and that the military might of the kingdom would not be what it is now if not for his genius and tenacity.
I asked him if he’s ever noticed anything suspicious about him, if he’s ever actually talked to him about his life, not mentioning what I found the night before.
He told me Wallace can sometimes be a quiet, private man, and aside from being an orphan, he is just different from most.
On my way to see Morynn at the palace in the early afternoon, I took a shortcut behind the barracks, and down through the waterways underneath the market. Demetrius tells me the waterways were on of the first things in the kingdom to be built, after the Great Hall. I turned a corner just as someone, or something, scurried around down the corridor. It was too dark to see, but it looked vaguely human, and was incredibly fast. I called out to it, but everything once again was quiet, not that it made any noise.
What it left was a thin black envelope lodged between the damp stonework. It stuck out a few inches, and I almost walked into it before I saw it by the reflection of the dim light above on its gold waxen seal. There were no markings on the envelope, but it felt thick like it contained something.
I slotted it away in my shirt and continued, hesitantly.
Whatever this thing was in the sewers, I was ready to fight.
Nothing came of this encounter save for the envelope. No trace was left of this person.
I left the waterway via a stone stairwell that exited into the palace yard.
They should truly make this place more secure.
I found Morynn in father’s office, reading some book about a Dragonborn pirate named Kara-hardash.
Father looked painfully tired, and even more so disappointed. Stacks of paper the size of pillars laid about his office and splatterings of ink on his clothing forced me to ask if something was bothering him.
“I don’t know anymore, Walcott”
His anguish and apathy genuinely shocked me.
“The king has stopped listening to his advisors, most of all me. We’ve ceased all meaningful trade except with the east, and even then it’s sparse, and many of our caravans are sacked before they reach their destination."
The words seemed to poor out of him like an overflowing kettle at boiling point.
I remained silent, knowing more was coming.
“I have overheard my colleagues speaking of declining birth rates and fewer eligible defendants. Fullman is the last member of the royal guard by blood, and most of our population as a whole is aging rapidly. The most recent births in the last 7-9 months have been successful, which gives me hope, but there needs to be change”.
I asked him, scared, “Why are you telling me this, father? What can I possibly do?”
“I fear the worst for Auspicia. The king is becoming disconnected from the people, and they become uneasy. Auspicia is capable of much more under strong leadership. Without that, we become restless, we crave a singular purpose. We are a nation of skilled duelists and crafstmen; it’s in our blood, in every facet of our culture, down to the last man, woman and child. We have steel in our blood, Walcott, but people like me and Lars, our day is done, and the steel has cooled. For centuries since The Rising, we have warred and struggled, but never against ourselves, never on our own shores. The world is changing, Walcott, we are changing, and I fear the king’s steel has hardened beyond all tool”
Fighting to hold back the tears in my eyes, I told him I would try. Try to bring Auspicia back to what it once was.
I know that I am capable of great things. I know that I can reforge this nation from the cold steel it has become.
But where do I start?
14 Larunda — 778
I am 18. I feel stronger, but younger than I ever have.
I have so much to learn.
Morynn is never around anymore, he chooses to spend his time studying naval charts and practicing knots. He’s more focused than I ever was at that age.
Pirates from Runa have been sighted pillaging coastal communities. At least dad says. Until they pass the peninsula our navy can’t do anything about it.
Typical.
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